


when I'm screaming at the sky

by slightlyraspberry



Series: death by folklore [5]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, F/M, POV First Person, S1 spoilers, Vagueness, mandyfic, reverse storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28536474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyraspberry/pseuds/slightlyraspberry
Summary: Josh and Mandy, finish to start.
Relationships: Mandy Hampton/Josh Lyman
Series: death by folklore [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091939
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	when I'm screaming at the sky

**Author's Note:**

> a three-for-one death by folklore, in part because I'm getting tired and I didn't want to write three whole angsty fics. In order, the sections and subheadings correspond to "my tears ricochet," "mirrorball," and "this is me trying," from Taylor Swift's folklore.

_and I can go anywhere I want (just not home)_

I rush to the hospital as soon as I hear.

They don’t want me to. They need me here, they say, to cover the message. What in God’s name does that mean, the “message?” The message is that Josh Lyman got shot. 

And besides. I don’t belong here. As has been made abundantly clear to me. 

But anyway, I’ve never been much good at doing what I was told. So I rush to the hospital and I shove my way into the waiting room, which is in epic chaos, and I’m rapidly informed that unless I came in with the team at Rosslyn, I might as well go home because they’re not letting in outsiders. 

Bullshit. I pull out my White House ID, which a short, slim receptionist looks skeptically at before asking me to wait. She says they’ll be right with me, but I’m not so sure. Instead of sitting in one of the ugly, angular chairs she waves me towards, I start to pace around the tiny little lobby. 

A few people shoot me dirty looks. What, did they expect me to wonder whether my ex died from the discomfort of a cheap plastic monstrosity? Fat chance. 

I pace around for a while. The bustling of the hospital roars in my ears. I look at my watch. It’s only been fifteen minutes since that snobby receptionist told me I could get through. I pull aside a different receptionist—a kid with close-cropped hair who looks too small for his scrubs. He takes one look at my battered ID and nervously nods.

“This way, Miss Hampton,” he says. I’m led to a tiny, separate waiting room in a different hall. 

Everyone is there. Sam is hunched into a couch, fiddling with his collar buttons. Toby stares at his pager grimly, waiting for a beep I doubt is coming. Leo sits across from Sam, staring emptily into space, while C.J. has her arms around a cowering Donna. Donna is here, but they wouldn’t let me in? More bullshit.

C.J. stands and walks over to me. I expect her to tell me to get out, or, I don’t know, admonish me, or give me a task to do. Instead, she leans down and hugs me. I’m a little stunned.

“Take a seat, Mandy,” she says.

I sit. C.J. sits with me. The chairs here have more cushions than the ones in the hospital proper.

“Is the President okay?” I ask.

“The President will be fine.”

“And Josh?”

C.J. sighs. “We don’t know yet.”

I purse my lips and clasp my hands in my lap. My skirt is starting to get wrinkled.

“Are you okay?” I ask C.J.

She touches the back of her neck absentmindedly, but nods. “I’m fine. I need you to prep Sam for the morning shows, though.”

I blink a few times, a little thrown by the request. “I can’t. I—my, uh, my resignation activates today.”

C.J. looks down, then looks up with a soft smile on her face. “Of course. I should have remembered. You’re going out to San Francisco, right?”

“I am. But—well, I suppose I can do a little prep for Sam.” 

I look over at Sam, then back at C.J. She looks at me, almost appraisingly, and I notice the bags beginning to form under her eyes. “No,” she says. “No, it’s fine. You ought to go, Mandy.”

I stand hesitantly. My heels are starting to pinch my toes. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“C.J.?”

She looks up at me.

“Is there any way I can see Josh?”

C.J. looks over at Donna. She looks back at me as she says, “I think it might be better if you just go.”

Right. I forgot Josh hates me now. He wouldn’t want me to care, anyway.

I nod slowly. “Alright. Alright. Well, thank you, C.J.”

“I’ll see you around,” she says. 

I take one last look around the room, at the senior staff (plus Donna) shadowed in worry. Not a one of them has looked up in the time I’ve been here. 

I walk out of the room, into the bigger lobby, down the stairs and into the darkness of the Washington night in my pinchy heels. My watch tells me it’s barely been a half hour since I entered the hospital. 

I flip open my phone and call my assistant. She sounds groggy when she picks up, but I ask her to push my flight up to tomorrow anyway. 

Fine. Josh Lyman dies, who cares. I’m not his girlfriend. Hell, I’m not even his coworker. The bastard can choke, for all I care. 

_I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try_

Josh and I are falling apart. 

I can just tell. Honestly, I’m not sure that we’ve ever really been together. Not in a real sense. 

I’ve always had a knack for telling when a relationship is about to hit a fucking iceberg. I think our boat got hit a long time ago—probably even before I started working for Bartlet. It’s just taking an excruciatingly long time to capsize. 

We’ve always fought, so I know it’s not that. It’s something else. 

You know what it is? It really isn’t me. It’s him.

I’ve been called uncompromising before. Alternatively, I’ve been called a frigid bitch. Both might be true, but Josh seemed to like that. 

It makes sense. A man with that much bottled emotion likes women who make him feel something, even if that thing is anger.

Josh liked that, until he didn’t. All of a sudden he woke up and I wasn’t enough. And fool that I am, I changed for him. 

That’s not who I am. Not usually. I don’t change for people. The only people I’ve ever changed for are my mother and Josh Lyman.

I don’t even want to think about what that means, that I care that much what he thinks. It doesn’t much matter, because as I said earlier, our relationship is about to sink into the ocean. 

I’m leaning on his windowsill, unlit cigarette between my lips. He hates that I smoke. I’ve started to hate it too. He’s asleep, wrapped up in shadowy sheets, peaceful from the sex that, quite honestly, I carried. 

A cold wind blows in, raising goosebumps on my arms. Josh stirs, and I look at him over my shoulder. He doesn’t wake, just shifts. 

That’s it. I’ve decided. Tomorrow morning, I’m breaking up with him. He’ll be happier for it. And better to pretend as if I’m the one breaking his heart than wait it out until he finally bites the bullet and cuts me off. 

“We can still be friends,” I’ll say. He’ll like that, to think that this isn’t a total fucking mess and instead just a mutual split.

And besides. Lloyd Russell is practically banging down my door. And I know for a fact that he likes his bitches frigid. 

_I just wanted you to know that this is me trying_

I hate Washington. It’s probably my second least favorite city. The first, of course, being home. 

That said, Washington comes in a very close second. The people are awful, it’s cold as hell, and it’s one of the most expensive cities I’ve ever had the misfortune to pay rent in. 

I guess it helps that the people, in addition to being awful, are also stupid. Consistently being one of the smartest people in the room has made it pretty easy for me to do alright for myself. But for the most part, I hate this city, and I definitely hate the bar I’m sitting in.

It’s full of politicos who are far too big for their britches, who think just because they’re capable of manning a phone that they’re the next fucking JFK. I pride myself on seeing through all that.

I can see right through the guy who’s sitting on the stool next to me. He’s cute enough, for Washington, but obviously covering his insecurities with arrogance and a cheap suit. He nods at me when we make eye contact.

And hell. I’m not desperate or anything. But his tone is nice when he says hello, and if you squint he really is cute. And dear God, I could use an orgasm. 

“Mandy Hampton,” I say, reaching a hand out.

“Josh Lyman,” the guy says, taking it. He grins boyishly. “Say, have I seen you around here before?”

“No.” I shake his hand, then take a drink. “No, I’m just trying this town out for a change.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of an exercise than anything else. I'm not super happy with the writing, but I can always come back and edit later. It would also be remiss to leave out the wonderful fics from which I stole a lot of Mandy's personality—the wonderful furies (https://archiveofourown.org/users/furies/pseuds/furies/works?fandom_id=450) has written two beautiful fics that informed this one. 
> 
> You can find me on twitter @samseabxrn and tumblr @slightlyraspberry. I live for kudos and comments. Thank you for reading!
> 
> (The furies fics in question: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35524 and https://archiveofourown.org/works/189963)


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